


Interlude

by h0ldthiscat



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: Fight the Future (1998)
Genre: F/M, Requests, bed sharing, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0ldthiscat/pseuds/h0ldthiscat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She studied the top of his head, the bridge of his nose, and wondered if she had dreamed that he had all but told her that he loved her. </p>
<p>She hoped she hadn’t dreamed it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

The quick trip up the two flights of stairs to their motel room was making her wheeze embarrassingly. Even after going through decon, she still felt empty and out of place, like someone had scooped out her insides and replaced them with half of what ought to be there.

“Sorry,” Mulder mumbled for the millionth time as the wheel of his suitcase collided briefly with her heel on the step above him. Scully knew he meant well, but at this point she was so tired she could just slap him.

“Stop apologizing,” she hissed.

“Scully I just flew--”

“I didn’t ask you to--”

“You never ask me for anything, I do it because--”

“I’d like my key please,” she interrupted him, holding out her hand in what she was sure was an unnecessarily childish manner.

“There’s only one room,” he said, waving the keycard in front of her. “At the desk I asked for two and they only had--”

“Fine. Whatever.” She snatched the card from him and keyed them in, relieved to find that the room looked like it had been cleaned in the last month, unlike some of the more off-the-beaten-path places she was used to staying on cases.

She collapsed on the bed without much thought, still somehow cold. She’d been cold ever since Mulder’s warm breath had left her ear on the ice in Antarctica and the rescue team had descended in a swirl of chopper blades and crunching snow. She had been warm then, with his solid weight on top of her, and the knowledge that he’d come to save her, inexplicably and almost miraculously.

“Are you going to shower?” Mulder asked, looking around the sparse room lamely.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just want to sleep.”

“Skinner’s got us on the 9:10 back to DC in the morning.”

“Okay…” she mumbled sleepily.

“Aren’t you going to take your shoes off?” he warned, probably recognizing the telltale signs of a sleepy Scully, she thought with a twinge of annoyance and something like love.

She gave an uncharacteristically petulant sigh, and hauled herself to sitting so she could unlace the standard-issue white sneakers she’d been given at the decontamination facility. Of the entire ensemble she’d been provided (sneakers, jeans, gray t-shirt, black sweatshirt, and an additional two fleeces because she hadn’t been able to stop shivering), the sneakers were the least offensive.

She tugged sharply at the lace, but it had become tangled with its cohort, making an ugly, tight knot.

“Dammit,” she sighed.

“Here.” He kneeled in front of her, long dexterous fingers working quickly at the thin, soft shoelaces. She studied the top of his head, the bridge of his nose, and wondered if she had dreamed that he had all but told her that he loved her.

She hoped she hadn’t dreamed it.

“Almost…” She watched the way his lower lip jutted out and his brow knitted in confusion as he worked the thin laces apart. “There.” He slid the shoe off her foot, and then the other.

She was struck with a sudden bolt of affection for him, and could only think to grab his shoulder and say, “Thank you,” the way she’d wanted to in Antarctica.

Mulder nodded, rested his warm hand on her knee for a moment and squeezed, then pushed himself up and moved toward the bathroom, mumbling, “Gonna take a shower.”

She hummed in her throat and lay back down and turned over, facing the ugly textured wall. She heard the gentle clink of his belt buckle hit the tile floor in the bathroom, the whirring of the cheap fan, the slow and steady pound of water. The seam of her jeans pressed into her side, making it hard to get comfortable, and thanks to some mystery injury she’d sustained during her trip to the arctic, lying on her stomach was not an option, as she’d painfully discovered at the decon facility. Without a thought, she groggily brought herself to standing, unbuttoned her jeans, and let them fall to the floor. Then she crawled under the covers and the sound of the shower lulled her to sleep.

X

She was asleep when he came out of the shower, tucked under the covers and breathing heavily but not quite snoring. For the first time since she’d been stung, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

She’d been in danger many times before, they both had. But there was something so real and present, something so sinister about what they’d encountered in Antarctica that losing her seemed that much more possible, and he didn’t like it.

As quietly as possible, he pulled out a fresh pair of boxers from his recklessly packed suitcase, and studied the two shirts he’d brought with him. Should he sleep with a shirt on? Would she be offended if she awoke to him sprawled out in the armchair, shirtless? He didn’t have time to consider the matter further when he heard her stir.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Stop apologizing,” she murmured sleepily.

He grinned, then heard her say, “Cold.”

Mulder looked around the motel room for a blanket, a towel, anything. She’d been shivering since he’d pulled her from that intergalactic goo and it killed him. He reached for the sweatshirt in his suitcase. “Here, use--”

“Just c’mere,” she sighed. “In the bed.”

He could barely believe it. “What?”

She lazily opened one eye, and even with that she was able to glare at him. “Mulder.”

Tentatively, he approached the bed, pulled back the covers, and slid in beside her. He felt her hand reach out behind her and pull him to her back.

“Scully, you don’t--” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Whatever her motives for pulling him in close, he couldn’t really believe it. Was that really his hand between hers, nestled close to her chest, snug between her breasts? Was she wearing a bra? Think about something else, he begged his brain.

“Scully--”

“Shut up, Mulder.” Her voice was thick with sleep like a child’s. “It’s raining sleeping bags.”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant, and then he laughed softly into her hair. He heard her breathing slow, felt her relax against him. He was sure she was asleep, so he jumped when her voice came up out of the stillness.

“Why do you do it?” she asked.

His heart pounded in his ears and his whole body stiffened. “What?”

“Downstairs, you started to say something and I cut you off. About why you came to find me.”

How much did she remember from before she’d been stung, he wondered? Had she been conscious there, under the ice, replaying his confession in the hallway over and over? God knows he hadn’t stopped wracking his brain about it. Would she really have kissed him?

“Mulder?” She gave his hand a squeeze. One of her small feet, still covered in thick wool socks, brushed against his, absently traced up his calf. He felt bold.

“You know why I did it,” he said finally. Didn’t she? God, she had to know. Surely she knew the way he looked at her. That she meant more to him than anyone in the universe did to anybody.

“Oh.” She was so quiet. “That’s nice.”

Her grip on his hand tightened and she didn’t say anything else. He waited until he heard her breathing deepen, and only then did he allow himself to consider the unlikely possibility of sleep. He tried not to bend his head and catch a whiff of her tousled hair.

He was unsuccessful.


End file.
